I almost always have a group of kids in my room before school starts. They come by to say hi, to tell me what’s going to be happening, to complain about the homework they had the night before, or sometimes to do the homework they had the night before. Ryan will usually give me an update on work, his guitar, and how well (or not) his new workout routine is going (which translates into how much weight he has lost). Miranda, my teaching assistant, comes in to help me prep for class but also to give me the latest on the colleges she is courting, the ones where she has been accepted, and a rundown on how her basketball team is doing—oh, and to deduct another day from the countdown toward her birthday—I think we’re at twenty-seven as of this writing. Mikey comes rolling through the door in his motorized wheelchair most every morning lamenting his latest English assignment. And Dan stops by regularly to chat, often in his Jr. ROTC uniform—which always makes me feel a tad small and inadequate.

So one morning a few weeks ago I had a student, I’ll call her Julie, arrive early as she often does. This day, however, something was different. You see Julie, by her own admission deals with a lot of anxiety and one of the ways it manifests itself is she has a very hard time speaking aloud in class. I mean typically I can barely hear her answer a question even if I’m standing very close. She is well aware of this struggle because “I want to get over my anxiety” was how she answered my very first question of the day to her class, share one of your goals for this year. I definitely wanted to help but wasn’t having a lot of success.

Then came this morning when Julie seemed more upbeat, more animated, more cheerful. She was smiling. Her eyes were actually sparkling. I think she even did a twirl or something as she set her bag down. I asked her how she was doing and I’m pretty sure she said “great”! Naturally I asked the source of her “greatness” and she said she had been in a play the night before. She elaborated saying she had given a monologue which had gone extremely well and she was very happy about it. I asked her if I could hear it and to my surprise she said yes, and sat down across from me and began.

Half way across the room Miranda, who was sitting at her desk working on lesson plans, whipped her head around and our eyes met in utter disbelief as we heard the initial scream and opening lines virtually thunder from our sheepish, ultra-quiet, anxiety laden Julie:

(EXCITED SCREAM) I CANNOT TELL YOU HOW EXCITED I AM FOR MY NEW LITTLE BLACK DRESS COLLECTION TO FINALLY BE OUT IN STORES. OOOOOOH THE PUBLISHER JUST SENT ME A PICTURE OF THE FIRST ADVERTISEMENT. OH. OH. WOW. THIS IS QUITE THE PICTURE. IT’S GOOD, I GUESS. I JUST IMAGINED MY DRESS TO BE MORE OF A CLASSY ITEM FOR ADULTS. WHY IS SHE SO PALE? HOW OLD IS SHE? WHY IS SHE STANDING LIKE THAT? I’VE GOT TO MAKE A PHONE CALL.

I understand the monologue is not contextualized for you but the bigger point is it didn’t matter what she said but that she said. Fact is she could have delivered a Shakespeare soliloquy, The Gettysburg Address, The Apostles Creed, or a Mother Goose nursery rhyme. It wouldn’t have mattered. The effect on Miranda and me would have been exactly the same: WOW! Is this Julie . . . our Julie?

All during that recitation I could scarcely stand to take my eyes off her and yet I could hardly tear them away from Miranda’s as we both stared in wonder at this vulnerable young freshman who could barely find the courage in class to utter “me gustan los libros” (I like books) above a whisper. Yet her she was, instantly and completely in character, flawlessly reciting a monologue that had previously been delivered to an audience of several hundred. I’m telling you her excitement was so palpable you’d have thought she actually was the fashion designer of this fictitious dress collection, that her hands had turned up the hems, crocheted the lace-work, and sewn on the sequins. And when she was done we applauded—she just quietly beamed. It was one of those moments that teachers live for.

Now I’d like to tell you that delivering that monologue to us broke the back of Julie’s anxiety and that we all can now hear her from across the room, that she speaks with Ryan about music, or commiserates with Mikey about homework, or salutes Dan, or is preparing to sing Happy Birthday to Miranda over the school intercom next month . . .but — yeah, not really. I can tell you, however, that on that day she spoke louder and with more confidence during class than she ever had before. I can also tell you that she agreed to deliver it to the entire class, that she never stops trying to speak louder and clearer, and that she auditioned for the drama department’s spring musical.

You might not believe it but I’m telling you there are times when more education happens before or after class than during class. That day did not break the steel rod that is Julie’s anxiety, but it sure bent it.

Steve MacKenzie retired from the full-time English classroom in June 2012. He remains at Somersworth High part-time teaching Spanish and can be reached at room217@comcast.net.